


Soaking Wet

by Selina_2000



Category: Constantine (2005), Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), DCU, Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Justice League Dark (2017), Justice League Dark (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Kissing, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selina_2000/pseuds/Selina_2000
Summary: During a storm in London, you find cover in the house of your ex-boyfriend, John Constantine.
Relationships: John Constantine/Reader
Kudos: 30





	Soaking Wet

There were many things you loved about London, but the weather was definitely not one of them. There had been no sign of rain when you left your hotel room for an evening stroll, the sun shone brightly on the clear sky. Then, almost by magic, the clouds turned gray, the wind began to hurl, and a heavy rain started pouring down.

Puddles of water splashed under your feet as you ran through the streets desperate to find shelter. The icy rain pricked your skin like projectiles, the strong winds blowing it at fast speeds. Strands of wet hair clung together in front of your face, blocking your vision and no matter how many times you tried to tuck them behind your ear, they fell off again.

Being mostly a residential area, there were no stores for you to seek shelter in and the open sidewalks offered no protection. By the time you finally found cover under the awning of a four-storey brick building, even your socks were drenched. Although the draped fabric prevented the water from falling directly above you, it did nothing to shield you from the gusts of wind and the droplets of rain it brought along. 

You hugged your coat tightly around your body in an attempt to keep yourself warm. You hadn’t dressed for the weather, your clothes weren’t thick enough to act as an efficient barrier from the cold. Not even your cardigan seemed to do anything against the rapidly dropping temperature. 

You considered walking into the building instead of simply hiding in front of it. The wooden door, however, was locked and without a key, you found yourself stuck where you were. Your battery had run out and, as such, you couldn’t even call yourself an Uber.

When you first heard his voice calling your name, you assumed that you had simply drifted off and were dreaming - no, if he was in it, then it must be a nightmare. But then he called again, each syllable coated heavily in his british accent, and you are pulled out of your musings.

Water beads clung to your eyelashes blurring your vision and you had to squint to see better, but there was no denying that it was actually him. His dirty blond hair was a disheveled mess on top of his head and his trademark trench coat flowed ever-so-gently behind him. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, which were slightly curled into a smirk. 

“John Constantine,” you replied in a mist of distrust and awe. It had been so long since your mouth had last formed those words that your muscles seemed to fight against it, as if trying to remind you what had happened the last time you did so.

He took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out, encircling the two of you in a grayish smoke and you coughed. “That’s me, luv.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he stated, grabbing a pair of keys from his pockets and rattling them in front of you, the tiny metal pieces clinking against one another. 

Your mouth opened in a silent “oh”. Of course that, out of all the apartment buildings in London, you would end up stranded underneath his. The wind picked up and a chilling breeze blew across you, causing you to shiver.

“How ‘bout you?” he continued, “Are you stalking me? ‘Cause it would have been easier if you just called.”

You roll your eyes at his insinuation. “Oh please, as if I’d want anything to do with you again. I was just walking and got lost. And then this damned storm started.” As if prompted by your words, a lightning struck the sky, followed closely by the deafening sound of a thunder and you jolted in surprise.

Constantine chuckled and you furrowed your brows. “It’s not funny!” you groaned. “It’s freezing out here and I’m soaking wet!”

He raised an eyebrow but before he could make a sound, you were at it again. “Don’t even start. You know what I meant.”

“I don’t think I do, luv. Why don’t you show me how wet you are?”

You couldn’t believe his audacity. Making jokes and flirting when the last time you spoke to him he had acted like a complete bastard. Not to mention that you were clearly in distress. “Fuck. Off.” you replied harshly, crossing your arms and turning away from him.

“I can’t leave you out here to freeze to death, it would weigh heavy on my conscience.”

“Since when do you have one?” you bickered. 

“Do you wanna come inside or not?" he continued as if he hadn't heard your interruption. "I have some beers in the freezer and we could catch up while waiting for the storm to die out.”

You should’ve said no. But the cold was just too harsh and you could feel your toes going numb. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. 

"Fine. But that doesn't mean I forgive you or anything like that."

"Noted," he said, his smile widening a bit. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying something nasty about him. There was a huge list of unflattering adjectives you could call him, all of which would be true.

He unlocked the entrance and you rushed inside, immediately feeling better now that you were out of the wind's reach. John tried to make small talk as the two of you climbed the stairs up to his floor but you ignored his questions, dismissing most of them with a nod or a wave of hand.

His apartment wasn't the mess you expected. The small living room was tidy, there were no dishes on the kitchen sink and the floor wasn't littered with cigarette butts. It even smelled nice: lavender and blueberries, reminiscing of a warm summer day in the countryside.

You removed your muddy shoes and went inside. He turned on the heater and went to get the promised beers from the fridge. You sat on the carpet in front of the radiator and enjoyed the warmth. Constantine handed you an open bottle and you took it, shallowing half of it in one go, not minding the bitter taste. 

Despite the heat, you were still pretty much chilled to the bone, your damp clothes preventing you from fully warming up. You coughed and shifted uncomfortably, hoping he didn’t notice your discomfort. Nor the increasingly damp patch that was forming underneath you in the carpet.

"You should take off your clothes", John suggested casually as he studied you.

You almost choked on your drink. "Excuse me?"

"You are dripping everywhere", he took the now empty bottle from your hand, "and they say that you should never stay in wet clothes when trying to warm up. Do you wanna take a warm shower? I can lend you something to wear."

You squinted. You simply weren’t used to him being this… kind? Prestative? You didn’t even know what to call it. And once more, instead of declining his offer like any sane human being, you said yes.

He led you down the hallway to his bedroom, with its walls covered in posters of classic punk rock bands and sorcery books scattered around the floor, and to the annexed bathroom. 

“I’ll leave a change of clothes on the bed for you,” he said before closing the bathroom door. 

You locked the door, checking twice to ensure it couldn’t be open, and waited until you heard him move to the hallway before undressing. The shower was hot and you welcomed the scalding water, letting it run down your body and wash the cold away. You tried not to think of how his soap smelled like him - citric and earthy; as long as you had known John, he had always used the exact same brand of soap - and how _you_ would smell like him afterwards.

Despite that, you couldn’t deny that it was pleasant to have a shower, and when you were done, you already felt better. Careful to keep your back to the door, just in case his intentions were less chivalrous than he was letting out, you picked the white button-up shirt he had separated for you and got dressed. It was clearly an old, worn-out piece and you could see the markings of cigarette burns and of the places where the fabric had been thorn in combat and had been sewn back together. The garment was too big for your lithe frame, the hem hung just above your knees and the sleeves covered completely your hands, forcing you to roll them up in order to use your hands. He had left a pair of black pants but, given your lack of underwear, you chose not to put them on, the shirt did more than enough to cover your private parts. You pulled your hair in a loose bun to get the wet strands out of your neck and, after a quick glance at the mirror to ensure you were decent, walked back to the living room.

Constantine was slouched on the couch, watching television with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He smiled as you crossed the doorway and his gaze drifted over your body, lingering just a second too long on your cleavage and making you blush. He scooted to the end of the couch and patted the empty space besides him and, seeing no harm in it, you slumped against the cushions.

“Feeling better?”, he asked, passing the bottle to you, which you gladly took.

“I hate to say it, but you were right, everything feels better after a shower.”

On the screen, a man jumped from a helicopter while bombs exploded in the background, and despite not having seen the beginning of the movie, and although you weren’t exactly paying attention, you soon got the hang of the plot. Indeed, John’s presence on your side was quite disconcerting, and throughout the movie, as the bottle emptied out, you found yourself inching closer and closer to him, until your legs were touching.

As the action came to a climax and the hero saved his beloved, you felt Constantine’s hand sliding over your leg, fingers drawing little circles on your skin that sent goosebumps to your core.

“John,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch and sighing as he ventured further upward and his calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh.

“That’s right, luv, say my name,” his words were soft as he whispered them into your ear.

You shook your head. “No, we can’t.” You tried to shove him off, but didn’t put any real strength in it. You knew it was wrong, but his touch was just _so_ good, and it felt _so_ right.

Ignoring your plea, his free hand began to open the buttons of the shirt to expose your breasts. “ _Can’t_ or _won’t_?”

You lost any ability to form cohesive sentences when his lips closed around your peaked nipple, nibbling at the raised nub. His tongue swirled over your breast and you found yourself gripping tightly at his dirty blond hair to keep him from pulling away.

While he continued to place kisses on your chest, his other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers dangerously close to your already dripping folds. He teased you, scraping his nails where he knew your skin to be the most sensitive until you were squirming under him, basically begging him to give you the relief you craved.

He detached his mouth from your body with an audible pop. “Tell me, still think we can’t?”

You rolled your eyes. “You win. Just-” Your sentence was cut short as he abruptly kissed you and, wrapping an arm around your waist, picked you up from the couch and carried your body to the bedroom.

You giggled as he laid you onto the bed, legs wide open and back propped up against pillows. His eyes were locked with yours as he spread your lower lips apart and dragged his tongue lazily over your entrance. Your hips jerked forward when he made contact with your clit and you moaned as he began to flick his tongue against it. He knew how to get you all worked up, kissing, biting and sucking on the right places to send your mind into heaven. Or perhaps hell.

Praises and profanities rolled out of your tongue as the pleasure built inside of you. Your nails scratched his shoulders leaving red trails of blood behind, urging him to continue. Dark spots formed on your vision as you reached your peak, back arching over the mattress and a lewd scream leaving your mouth.

He laid on your side, a wide grin plastered on his face. “It’s still storming outside, perhaps it would be better for you to spend the night. Just to be safe, you know,” he added with a mischievous wink.

“Shut up,” you replied, leaning over to kiss him, the taste of you still on his lips. “Just tonight. And only because it is freezing out there.”

He nodded half-heartedly and draped an arm around you, pulling you against him. “Sure. Someone has got to keep you warm.”


End file.
